Valar mentioned in this part:
The Aratar: a collective term for the eight greatest Valar: Manwë, Varda, Ulmo, Yavanna, Aulë, Mandos, Nienna, and Oromë.
Irmo (Lorien): Master of Visions and Dreams. Not part of the Aratar, but brother of Mandos and Nienna.
Manwë: King of the Valar, and ruler of the winds and air.
Mandos: the Doomsman of the Valar, and keeper of slain Elves in his Halls.
The Orcs were winning. For the moment, the Fellowship were backed into a tight circle, hobbits in the centre, Gandalf and the four warriors on the outside, staving off the relentless, murderous blows.
The Orcs were mindless, careless of their own lives, and that was what made them at once so dangerous and so easily killed. Not so the lone Uruk who travelled with this pack. He hung back, watching for opportunity, and Aragorn kept him warily in view even while wreaking slaughter on the Orc rabble. For the glint in the giant Uruk's eye was definitely directed at Aragorn.
There was a slight break in the chaos between them and Aragorn braced himself for defence as the towering Uruk covered the distance in three long strides. All of a sudden Aragorn was shoved firmly backwards as someone cried, "Estel!" and the next thing the Ranger knew was that Legolas was crumpling in front of him. The Uruk had smitten the Elf across the left shoulder; with a howl of satisfaction the monster made to deliver the deathblow.
That satisfaction was the last thing the Uruk knew. Aragorn cleaved him in twain with Anduril, then anxiously helped the hobbits pull Legolas to safety before he perforce turned to engage two more Orcs. On either side of him, Gimli and Boromir closed ranks.
In the end, Gandalf did not have to compromise their safety with magic to extricate them from the battle. Every Orc was slain by the warriors, and the only one of the Fellowship who had paid a price was Legolas. Aragorn knelt to him anxiously, and pulled the tunic away to gauge the extent of the wound.
"'Tis nothing, Estel," panted Legolas, trying vainly to hide his pain for the Ranger's sake.
"Nothing, forsooth!" replied Aragorn. "It is a deep and jagged wound, and if we do not take care, it will fester." He turned to the hobbits. "Sam, you know where my herb pouch is, don't you? Can you bring it, and someone else some water?" He leaned closer and though all of the Fellowship was gathered around in concern, for Legolas and Aragorn there was only each other. "You may be Firstborn, mellon, but you are not invulnerable," chided Aragorn gently. "I was ready to defend myself against that Uruk. And this is not the first time you have flung yourself recklessly between me and a foe."
"Would you not do the same for me?" demanded Legolas, in a tone he meant to be indignant, but which actually trembled not a little.
"I hold your life as dear as my own, and would never hesitate to defend you," Aragorn told him firmly. "Though I have been hearing altogether too much of my 'great destiny' of late from old men who love to prognosticate, I would think my final fate just as worthy if it proved to be yielding my life for yours in battle. But I will not anger the Valar by tempting that fate without need, and neither must you."
Legolas was pale from pain and emotion, the more so since Aragorn was now carefully cleaning his wound with some of the water Gimli had silently brought. "I will scold you no more, mellon," said the Ranger, concerned, and he held a cup to the elf's lips. "Drink this, and it will give you some surcease from pain."
Camp was soon made, and Aragorn kept vigil beside his dozing patient as night came down. Gandalf settled himself silently beside them for a while. Eventually he said, "This is difficult for both of you."
"That he is injured? Mostly for him, methinks."
"You know what I am saying, Aragorn. There is no need for ill-timed jests."
Aragorn rested his brow on his hand and rubbed. "We have done nothing dishonourable."
"I know that," replied Gandalf placatingly. "But the road is long, and keeping your distance will be difficult."
Aragorn turned an anguished face to the wizard and, dropping into Sindarin, said urgently, "It is no mere lust of the body, Mithrandir."
"This too I know," Gandalf said in the same language. He lit his pipe with deliberation, and took several long puffs, considerately directing the smoke away from the sleeping Elf. "Have you considered breaking with Arwen?"
"May the Valar have mercy on me, I cannot," replied the Ranger. "It is not only that Elrond has advised me not to do so. It is not only that you yourself have intimated to me that she is destined to be my partner in the founding of a line of Kings. It is not even that Arwen has told me bluntly that breaking our troth will not prevent her from choosing mortality; that she will live only for my lifetime, whether happy or miserable, so I do her no favour by setting her free."
"Ah, you have spoken of this, then."
"At Arwen's insistence," replied Aragorn tightly. He touched the wizard's sleeve and looked imploringly into the wise old eyes. "I love them both, Gandalf. Elbereth forgive me, I love them both, and I do not know what to do."
Gandalf gently patted the hand on his sleeve for the moment. "I am not Mandos, who sees the future as clearly as the past," he said. "I have no certain knowledge of how your destiny will be accomplished, though I am convinced it will be a great one." Aragorn shrugged impatiently and Gandalf smiled with affection. "All I can advise you is to follow your own best impulses and to wait for a clear sign from the Valar. You are important to them, my dear boy, whether you choose to believe it or not, and that sign will come. Meanwhile, be strong for Legolas' sake."
Aragorn shook his head. "He is the strong one," he said. "When I burn, he cools me in the depths of those sea-blue eyes. When I am near to going mad, a few words in his silver voice restore balance and sanity. It is his doing alone that I manage to tolerate being in his presence and yet not in his embrace." He lifted the Elf's unresisting hand covertly to his lips.
"Both of you are formidable, each in his own way," rejoined Gandalf. "Get some rest now, lad. Gimli and Boromir are sharing the watch tonight; I can guard Legolas' slumber."
Aragorn did not move. "He will have troubled sleep tonight," he said. "The potion I gave him only masks the pain enough to let him enter his reverie." Legolas shifted and moaned in unconscious confirmation.
"Go on, my boy," replied Gandalf kindly. "I have watched a few sickbeds in my time. You can relieve me when the moon sets if you wish to sit with him in the dark before dawn. But for now, do not sap your own resilience."
Aragorn reluctantly saw the sense in this. As he made way for Gandalf to sit next to the wounded Elf, he ran a careful hand across the arm shifting restlessly outside the covers. "I wonder what he is dreaming about," he said.
"Ah, only Irmo knows that," replied the Maia.
Legolas was tossing and twisting helplessly through the stormy air at the mercy of a great buffeting wind. His limbs flailed helplessly and his eyes streamed. He could hear nothing but the howling tempest.
After what seemed like an endless time, he was deposited upon a small, precarious platform at the very peak of a high mountain. The sun came out suddenly and shone so fiercely in his face that he had no choice but to bow his head.
"Legolas Thranduilion." The voice was loud but elusive, everywhere and nowhere at once, like the cry of the wind.
"Aye, my Lord Manwë," whispered Legolas fearfully, wishing there was space upon his tiny perch to kneel.
"Ah, so you know me." There was gratification in the booming voice. "Do you also know why I have brought you here to Mount Taniquetil?"
"Nay, my Lord."
"I will tell you. You have been a subject of some consternation amongst the Valar, Legolas Thranduilion, you and your ill-conceived passion for the Man they call Aragorn. A great destiny awaits him; he will achieve high fame and great deeds, and re-establish the line of the Kings of Gondor. All this is foretold."
"I knew it," Legolas said to himself with great gladness.
"But it appears that your devotion to him is returned, Elf" - Legolas looked up in delight at the acknowledgment, then quickly dipped his head again - "and that poses certain problems for the continuation of his line, does it not? Indeed some of my more impulsive brethren were of the opinion that we should simply consign you to Mandos' Halls forthwith."
Legolas' gladness was suddenly replaced by great dread. "I am too insignificant to merit such attention, Lord Manwë," he said meekly. "I have not pressed my suit, nor will I ever do so if it is your will to forbid it."
There was a massive rumble which Legolas belatedly realized was the spirit's laughter. "I daresay you might even keep that promise, little Elf," said Manwë. "But Aragorn is a stubborn man, and his passions are strong. Nor are you as insignificant as you claim: none amongst your Fellowship is, in these troublous days. Nay, there are but two choices: to remove you entirely from Middle Earth, or to reweave all your destinies so that your love may become part of the greater Song, rather than making discord within it. Which of these two we choose depends on you, little Firstborn."
"What must I do, my Lord?" asked Legolas
"The Aratar have resolved to test your worthiness. Your strength, your courage, your wisdom, your endurance, and, to be sure, the depth of your love for Aragorn - all of these will be put to trial. It will be a bitter ordeal, perhaps with an even more bitter end. Even should you pass muster, you will not escape unscathed." He paused. "Or, if you so choose, I will summon Mandos now to escort you with easy passage to his Halls of Waiting, where you will stay until the end of the world. To mortal eyes, you will appear to have succumbed to your wound. What say you, Legolas Thranduilion?"
Legolas drew a long breath. "I will undertake the ordeal, my Lord," he said. "I cannot leave him without a struggle."
"So be it," rumbled the wind, and Legolas was roughly borne aloft in the tempest's embrace once more.
